


Hearts of Ash and Rust

by LaserDragon



Series: Ashen Tales [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Cannibalism, Character Study, Child Abuse, Connected One Shots, Demon AU, Demon My Unit | Byleth, F/F, Female My Unit | Byleth, Mild Gore, Not In Chronological Order, One Shot Collection, Side Stories, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22766185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaserDragon/pseuds/LaserDragon
Summary: There is more to a story than what lies on the surface. Different sides of the same coin, but only one lies in sight. Just because one cannot see the other side doesn’t mean it’s not there. The wills of those whose hearts burn with passion, dreams that rot away in the face of cruel reality, and lives tangled together by the throes of fate. These are the tales of those caught within its web.(An accumulation of different perspectives and small side stories for Ashen Blight and Burning Embers.)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Ashen Tales [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635817
Comments: 17
Kudos: 94





	1. Welcome to Hell

Living on the edge is an inevitability when the realm is a wasteland of corruption and death. Volatile magic runs rampant in the air turning rain into fire that poisons the land. The fact that anything manages to survive here at all is a godsend- Is what someone might say if they didn’t know the gods would happily rip this world apart if they could step foot into it. Something about the taint corroding this world reacting badly to their “holy” presence. That very same taint giving the inhabitants of this world their monstrous strength or so Kronya has heard. 

Not that any of that matters in the end when getting food is a pain in the ass. Almost every damn plant that grows here is highly poisonous which means meat is a demon’s primary diet. That by itself is fine, the real problem is the animals themselves. Big, bulky brutes the size of carriages at the very least. Thick muscles that are difficult to cut through and a ravenous appetite. Even fish make for dangerous prey with jaws that can snap an iron pole clean in half. Though calling anything in this godforsaken land “prey” is highly inaccurate. It makes surviving rather difficult for people like her who are weak. Kronya can’t hunt on her own and she doesn’t trust anyone else not to inevitably stab her in the back. Which leaves her with only one option.

This isn’t the first time Kronya has pissed off another demon. It comes with the territory of being a swindler and a thief. The key is to get out and be long gone before whoever she suckered realizes what had happened. Except sometimes mistakes are made or bad luck decides to strike at the worst time. Kronya has had her fair of botched heists but none this bad before.

It’s rare to find large groups in this wasteland they call home. The more mouths to feed the higher the risk of infighting to break out. That’s what happens when resources are limited, especially with a race as snappy as theirs. It’s something she’s often taken advantage of. Ruffle some feathers and while everyone is busy baring their fangs at each other she'll grab as much as she can and book it. Instead this time one of the older members of this gang had realized what she was doing, had probably seen this sort of thing before.

There is a saying here in Hell: You’re either strong, smart, or dead. Kronya likes to think she falls into the middle category but knows that alone can only carry her for so long. It doesn’t matter how good her silver tongue is, the fact remains that she has to rely on others to survive. When you’re part of a race that tends to rip heads off first and ask questions later that’s a dangerous dependency. It’s why demons like her tend to not live for very long. So when someone that falls into the former category sets their sights on her all she can do is run and hope she can hide from them long enough that they give up.

Not that it looks like she’ll get far this time. They know the area far better then she does and are fully aware of this fact. The gang has been running her around in circles, forcing her to follow certain paths while ensuring she can’t go down others. At this point all Kronya is doing is delaying the inevitable. To be killed simply because she had decided to go after the wrong mark. How simultaneously vexing and fitting.

Kronya turns a corner and feels herself slam into something solid. The impact was enough to send her hurtling back. She would have fallen flat on her back had the person she ran into not grabbed her first. Looks like this game of cat and mouse has finally come to an end. It was fun while it lasted.

“Sorry.” Except instead of slitting her throat the woman _apologizes_.

Once Kronya is back steady on her feet she gives the other demon a quick once over. A scruffy woman slightly taller than her. With obsidian horns that curl forward then up out of her mint colored hair. Eyes of a similar shade stare blankly at the redhead, it makes her tails flick behind her. This is not one of the gang members chasing her. She had made sure to memorize the faces of all of them before making her move.

The concept of age is difficult to grasp for a species that can live hundreds, in rare cases even thousands, of years. It’s measured not in inches but miles. A demon is either a kid, an adult, or old with little to no distinction between. There are signs that give away which category someone falls into. Though the demon’s expression is completely blank there’s a sort of awkwardness to her. A clumsiness that can’t be found in older demons. The fact that she felt the need to apologize at all is very telling in of itself. Either she’s stupid or very young.

“Better get lost kid. I fucked up and only one of us needs to suffer for it.” Kronya doesn’t hold much sympathy for others but she can at least recognize an unfair situation when it crops up. 

“Oh so you’re the one being hunted.” Maybe she’s not stupid afterall. Not that it makes much of a difference.

“That’s right, and I doubt those bastards will care that we literally just run into each other if they see you with me.” Another reason why Kronya prefers not to get close to anyone. A friend of hers is someone else’s enemy and vice versa. “So get out of here already.”

The woman tilts her head, her expression not shifting at all. It’s infuriating how calm she is when Kronya herself feels like all her senses are on overdrive. 

“I think it’s too late for that then.” She points up to the roof of a decayed building. There a figure with leathery wings tenses after having realized he’s been spotted.

The winged demon doesn’t surprise Kronya. What does is the fact that this woman had noticed his presence and even knew exactly where he was. She knew he was tracking her and she couldn’t figure out where he was. With the element of surprise gone the winged demon pounced.

The demon slammed straight into the kid with a mighty roar, having deemed her the bigger threat. The kid manages to stay standing but stumbles back into the stone wall behind her. When she hits the wall a pained yelp escapes the young demon. For a moment all Kronya can see is a flurry of frantically flapping wings. Then the kid bashes their foreheads together dazing them both. 

There’s a brief pause as they both try to regain their bearings before the kid grabs him and slams his head into the wall over and over again. Repeating the motion until his head is little more than mush. Her expression was as set in stone as it had been when Kronya had bumped into her. However her back was hunched and her shoulders tense. The kid’s breath is coming out in short gasps that small scuffle couldn’t possibly be the cause of.

There isn’t much time to think about it before Kronya hears footsteps pounding towards them. Not just from behind but in front too. Her other pursuers have them surrounded, the only way out is up. An option neither of them have the right limbs to take.They’ll have to fight their way out.

“Can you fight?” The kid wipes her bloodied palm off against the corpse’s wings. She had managed to quickly compose herself after detecting the danger.

“If I could I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.” Kronya’s tails curled so they were poised to strike. Not knowing how to fight doesn’t mean she isn’t going down kicking and screaming. If she’s lucky she’ll be able to puncture a skull or two before she drops.

Two against three isn’t the worst odds that could have befallen them. Though when one of the two is too weak to fend for herself and the other injured numbers don’t mean jack. The kid puts herself between Kronya and two of their foes, leaving her to only deal with one. Oh and just to add the icing onto the cake it’s the very demon that had ratted her out in the first place. Time to see if she can dish out some payback.

“I’ll admit you’re slippier than I’d thought you’d be, chasing you around was fun at first but now it’s just gotten annoying. Why don’t you be a good girl and die like the dog you are?”

Feeling the growl that bubbled out of her throat was a foriegn sensation. It wasn’t often Kronya used that particular part of her anatomy. A testament for how much she wants to stab this smug bitch. Instead of being intimidated by the sound the other demon’s grin widened.

She wasn’t grinning anymore when a throwing knife impaled itself into her stomach. The small yelp she let out was far more satisfying then it had any right to be. Kronya used her surprise to close the distance between them. As handy as those knives are they can’t do much damage if they don’t land in the right spots. Her main weapon of choice is far more effective for killing.

Two of her tails were grabbed before they could pierce through flesh while the third burrowed into the bitch’s ribs. This time it was Kronya who was grinning down at her foe. A frustrated growl tore out of the other demon’s throat. Even injured she’s still a wall of muscle. It didn’t take much for her to throw Kronya off of her, causing the redhead to slam painfully into concrete. She had just enough time to get on her knees before the ground froze around her.

The ice bit into Kronya’s skin, trapping her in place as her legs froze over. Any attempts to wiggle free were futile. Well this is it. Dying stuck to the ground and by the hand of the very same bitch that screwed her over in the first place. At least she managed to get a good hit in.

Every muscle in Kronya’s body locked into place. It felt as though a beast were breathing onto her neck. No, beasts are nothing compared to the thing that currently bared down on her. A higher being that could swallow her whole and spit her out without a second thought. To it Kronya is nothing but the dust crushed beneath it’s paws. This is how it feels to be under the scrutiny of an apex predator just before it wraps it’s jaws around her throat.

Except those jaws weren’t directed at her. The spell forming at the tip of her foes fingers sizzled out. The dagger lodged into her throat clogging her windpipe. Blood coughing a sputtering from her lips as she futility attempted to breath. Her legs gave out under her, body writhing in its increasing panic.

Kronya forced herself to look away from the dying demon. Instead shifting her attention in the direction the dagger was thrown from. She did so just in time to watch the kid tear her fist out of another demon’s stomach. His intestines spilling out as he collapses at her feet. The third of Kronya’s pursuer’s laying not too far away with his neck twisted back in a way no persons should.

Oh, so this kid is one of _those_ types. Kronya is so used to the top dogs being arrogant and haughty bastards that she hadn’t considered someone so apathetic could be on too. Just this once she’ll thank the gods for there’s no other way her luck could have turned so suddenly.

“Need help?” The kid casually asked as if she hadn’t just ripped a person’s guts out with her bare hands. That same completely blank expression not having shifted at all.

“Ah no, I got this.” Kronya’s magic is frankly pathetic but she can at least conjure flames strong enough to melt the ice caging her. Her feet are almost completely numb when she frees them, something she’ll need to keep an eye on. “Hey kid you’ve got a wound on your back don’t you?”

The younger didn’t respond but she didn’t need to. The way her shoulders tensed up upon hearing the question was all the answer Kronya needed. Standing up straight is a pain when her legs feel like cinder blocks but the redhead manages to do so without falling flat on her face. Walking is a bit more of a struggle. Kronya practically has to drag her feet across the ground in order to stay somewhat steady.

“Let me see it.” The kid takes a step away from her. How someone that just killed two people can suddenly act so timid at a simple request is beyond Kronya. “Oh relax will you! You saved my ass so the least I can do is repay the favor.”

If there is one thing Kronya hates more than relying on others it’s owing people favors. Helping tend to an injury is a minor thing compared to saving her life but it’s better than nothing. The kid reluctantly allows Kronya to get behind her and lift up her shirt. What Kronya finds underneath nearly has her eyes popping out of her skull.

What looks like an open stab wound that isn’t bleeding stares back at her. Muscle and even a tiny peek of bone clearly visible. Her veins are prominent against discolored skin. A foul mist faintly steaming out of the injury.

“Who did you piss off to get this?” It doesn’t take any sort of medical knowledge to know that something is severely _wrong_ here, unnatural even.

“It was…. A living weapon.”

Kronya stared and stared. Once the words fully sunk in let go of the kid’s shirt and placed a hand against her throat. Feeling the pulse under her finger beat away. Definitely alive and not a walking corpse.

“What the fuck! Even a tiny scratch the size of a papercut from one of those things can kill a demon! How the fuck are you alive!?”

The kid doesn’t answer and honestly Kronya doesn’t expect her to. She’s heard of what those things do to a person. Real nasty stuff that slowly eats away at a demon before crushing their soul within their vile curse. An exceedingly painful way to go if the claims she’s heard are true. That’s not the type of thing someone would talk about to a stranger.

“Nevermind that, here’s what we’re going to do: I know a few safe places to hide out. I’ll take you to one of them, get you some medicine and then we’ll never see each other again.”

That’s exactly how things play out. Kronya guides the kid to the nearest “no fighting” zone and slinks into the mortal realm long enough to get some basic first aid. She never asks the kid for her name and vice versa. They both understand such pleasantries would be pointless. The only thing that doesn’t go as planned is the fact that they do eventually see each other again after that.

Enough time had passed for the kid to make quite a reputation for herself. Long enough Kronya wouldn’t be surprised if the recently dubbed Ashen doesn’t remember her at all. Hell the only reason she herself does is because that was the only time Kronya had willingly helped someone without some ulterior motive. The Ashen never brings up that day so she doesn’t either.

It’s better for both of them that way. Attachments are a liability in a world like this. If she clings to the Ashen it’s because her passive nature makes her a useful tool. A beacon of light of sorts in this otherwise eternally dark wasteland. As for why the Ashen allows her brazen behaviour without complaint… Who knows what goes on in that woman’s head. 

Whatever the reason all that matters is that she’s a useful and pliable tool. Kronya will use the Ashen as a living shield for as long as she lets her. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s all their relationship is and forever will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember waaaay back when I said I might make side stories for ABaBE? Me neither. Well this is it! A collection of various points in time throughout ABaBE's timeline from various perspectives. It will shed some light on certain character's motivations, relationships, and generally just show some scenes I could never find a good place to shove into the main story. 
> 
> For the start of this little adventure we've got the first meeting between Byleth and Kronya which set up the building blocks for their entire dynamic from that day forth. As for Kronya's exact feelings towards Byleth... I'll leave that up to you interpretation. It's funner that way. I'm both excited and nervous to hear y'alls thoughts on this.
> 
> Oh and don't expect frequent updates on this like with the main story. I'm just going to add to this whenever I feel like it. That could mean a week or even a month. We'll find out together. And if your reading this and haven't read ABaBE then what are you doing? Go read it!


	2. A Muzzled Wolf Hiding in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS CHILD ABUSE

The world is a cruel and dark place but that suits him just fine. Even as a child Hubert always preferred to slink in the shadows then wade through the light. Things are less noticeable in those dark corners. It’s simpler to hide the knife he keeps in his pockets with his back to the wall than standing in the open. Lingering in those little crevices brings him comfort, a sense of security he can’t find anywhere else. It’s also easier to hide from his father that way.

The church often warns of beasts that wear human skin, deplorable creatures that can appear as a saint but in truth is the most vile of abominations. Monsters who once they leave the heavens light shed their mask to reveal their horns and tails. Silhouettes shifting from their disguise to what truly lies beneath. Part of Hubert hopes that by staying in the dark he might catch his father doing just that. A twisted fantasy to help justify all the suffering the man had inflicted upon him. That way he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact that men could be just as vile as the monsters in stories. Actually in a way they are worse. Monsters proudly wear their cruelty upon their sleeves whereas men hide it behind false smiles.

Once Hubert attempted to care for a stray kitten he had found wandering the Vestra estates gardens. A small, scruffy thing that bit his fingers the first time he attempted to touch it. Hubert would bring the feisty feline some leftovers from his meals in order to keep it strong. The little ball of fluff slowly grew to trust him, even allowing him to hold her in his arms. When Marquess Vestra found out about it he marched over to his son and roughly plucked the kitten from his lap by the scruff. Watching it mewl and squirm within his grasp.

“What is this?” Hubert immediately stood, back straight and against his knuckles resting against his spine.

“It’s a kitten I found in the gardens.” The question is completely redundant, Hubert still answers it anyways. Failing to do so would be met with punishment.

“How long have you been taking care of this  _ thing _ ?” He spits out the word like someone had just insulted the emperor. Full of venom seeking out blood.

“A little over a month.” The kitten squeaks angrily as it struggles to free itself. Hissing and clawing at the man holding it hostage.

Marquess Vestra follows his son's line of sight. He wraps his fingers around the kitten’s neck and  _ squeezes _ . There’s a sickening pop followed by the tiny feline going limp. Hubert felt his own nails digging into his palms. Other than that he refused to allow his body to react.

“Pack your things, we are going to Enbarr.” The marquess tosses the corpse to the side without a care. Hubert forced himself to meet the older man’s intense gaze.

“How long will we be staying?” Through some miracle he manages to reign back the fury bubbling beneath his skin. 

“I will be there for a few days while you will be staying there permanently from now on. You are to fulfill your duty of house Vestra by serving under Princess Edelgard.”

“Yes father.”

Without another word the marquess turned to finish preparing for the journey. With his back facing him Hubert felt his fingers twitch. The urge to pull out his knife and plunge it into his back overwhelming. Except that would cause more problems then it would solve. For a start with their height difference Hubert wouldn’t be able to get a good enough angle to actually kill his father. Even if he did manage to succeed that would still mean the head of one of the most powerful families in Adrestia was murdered in cold blood, finding the culprit would practically become a state emergency. So instead Hubert clenches his fists hard enough to feel nails break skin.

If there is one thing Hubert decided long ago it’s that anyone his father likes can’t be a good person. He’s been forced to listen to tirade after tirade about the importance of the imperial family. Hubert has decided long ago he hates them. Now he’s going to be forced to not only live with but act as the vassal towards a member of the family his bastard of a father has devoted his life to. What a sickening turn of events.

It isn’t the first time Hubert has been to Enbarr or the palace. Even still riding up to the behemoth of a building makes his stomach flutter nervously. He’s been to the palace before but everytime he was either glued to one of his parents’ sides or locked away in the guest room. Hubert had often dreamed of no longer having to hide in his father’s shadow, now he wonders if he should take back that wish.

The previous times Hubert has been here he always clearly remembers being greeted by the servants and occasionally one of the Hresvelg children. Usually he’d offer a polite greeting then proceed to hide behind his father as they talked, vaguely listening in to whatever drivel has caught their attention that day. This time however the fluttering in his stomach turns into a stone that makes his insides feel like they’ve sunk. When the grand doors open for them Emperor Ionius the IX himself is waiting for them. The man’s mere presence alone is enough to send every nerve in Hubert’s body into overdrive. He has an aura about him that exudes power, befitting of a man of his status. Ionius is the type of man you expect to see at the front of the charge on the battlefield.

“Vestra, it’s so good to see you again.” The friendly smile Ionius gives them is a complete contrast to his imposing figure.

“Likewise your Majesty. It’s always a relief to see you in fine health.” The two men shake hands in a greeting not like that between royalty and nobility but between old friends.

“Do you have that little faith in me?” Ionius accused with no real heat behind his words.

“I still remember quite clearly the trouble I’d have to pull you out of in your youth.” That got a small chuckle out of the emperor. It’s only then that he takes notice of the boy standing stiff beside his father.

“And Hubert, you’ve grown into a fine young man since I last saw you.” 

“T-thank you, your majesty.” Hubert internally cursed for stuttering like a girl in front of her school crush. Made worse by how his voice came out an octave higher than normal. 

With embarrassment slowly creeping its way in he finds himself unable to meet the emperor's eye any longer. Instead he makes the mistake of glancing in his father’s direction. To anyone else Marquess Vestra’s would come off as appearing neutral. Hubert on the other hand knows his father well enough to recognize the slight signs of displeasure. The slight crinkle in the corner of his lips, how his chin is tilted down. Hubert swallows the lump beginning to form in his throat and forces his attention back to Ionius.

“No need to be so formal. We’ll be seeing each other quite often from here on out after all.” The comment was meant to be reassuring but only made the stone resting in Hubert’s belly heavier.

“Speaking of where is the young lady?” Marquess Vestra cuts in before his son can embarrass himself even further. “I would have imagined she’d wish to greet her new retainer.”

“Ah Edelgard has reached that age where she’s become rather adventurous. Always running around and giving the servants a headache.” A softness spreads through Ionius’s expression. Memories of a few maids grumbling about the young princess disappearing only to return covered in dirt.

“She truly does take after her father then.” The elder Vestra has similar memories of having to drag the current emperor back into the palace from the markets.

“Indeed. Which is why I figured it’s about time she got her own vassal in the first place. Now I’m sure you’d both like some time to stretch your legs after such a long ride. Proper introductions can wait until after.”

They say their farewells as the emperor had stepped away from some business to see his long time friend again. One of the maids gestures for Hubert to follow, the elder Vestra has been here enough times that the palace is practically a second home to him yet he still trails behind them nonetheless. The maid leads them down a series of long halls while making a couple of sharp turns. Hubert commits the path to memory as they stop before one of the many doors.

“This is your room young lord. The lady’s room is just over there.” She pointed to one of the doors nearby before producing a key from her pocket and handing it to him. “If there is anything you require simply ask.”

With her heels still clicking down the hallways Hubert opens the currently unlocked door. The room is about the same size as his other one, maybe a little bigger. Sparsely decorated with his suitcases having already been moved in here. His things left for him to organize at his own leisure. Something he might have chosen to do then and there if not for the figure that towered over him.

“I didn’t know I raised a coward.” Marquess Vestra snarled out. Hubert could almost imagine a rabid wolf talking instead of a person. “If that is how you act in the presence of someone in power then how can I trust that you’ll be able to properly do your job?”

“Forgive me father. I was not expecting the emperor himself to greet us. It caught me off guard.”

It happened so quickly or perhaps his mind simply blanked out in that exact moment. All Hubert knows for sure is one moment he’s facing his father then his head is suddenly jerked to the side, cheek stinging from the impact. His vision blurs around the edges. Not from the pain itself but the fact that he had been hit at all.

“An assassin could appear from anywhere at any moment. When another life is in your hands “I was caught off guard” is nothing more than a flimsy excuse, a sign of incompetence!” The marquess used his vastly superior height to force his son to step back, only stopping once the back of Hubert’s knees hit the bed.

“I… see the error of my ways and will strive to do better from now on. It will not happen again.” He did his best to bow. Made difficult by their close proximity. The marquess grabbed Hubert’s chin and forced him to look him in the eye.

“Her life matters, your’s does not. Do you understand?” Though he says it softly his voice holds enough force that it strikes Hubert deep into his core.

“I understand.” There is nothing he can do but submit and hope that’s enough to make the rabid wolf clinging to his neck lighten it’s grip.

“Good.” Without another word Marquess Vestra spun on his heels and marched out the door. Hubert doesn’t know where he’s going but honestly couldn’t care. Right now he’s just grateful to be away from the bastard.

With the room to himself Hubert allows a tiny, strangled sob to leak out. Rubbing his sore cheek and praying it didn’t leave a mark. He doesn’t want to end up in a situation where he has to come up with a half baked lie explaining it away. That would only make things unnecessarily awkward. 

“Does he hit you a lot?” Hubert’s head snapped towards the meek voice. A little girl about a couple of years younger than him is peeking through the doorway. Her brown hair set in twin pigtails and periwinkle eyes rife with concern. “Are you okay?”

“It’s none of your concern.” Hubert quickly wipes away any signs of weakness. Standing tall and glaring down at the girl. His voice is snappier than necessary but he doesn’t care.

Instead of being intimidated away like he hopes the girl frowns. Shamelessly stepping into his room without a care. Now that she isn’t half hidden behind the doorway Hubert can clearly make out her clothes which are far too well made for her to be one of the servant’s children. Great, another noble has managed to catch him at his weakest. A problem that needs to be remedied quickly.

“I think it is my concern since this happened in my own home!” The girl stomps one foot onto the ground and Hubert feels his heart stop.

Now that he’s taking a closer look her hair is an almost identical shade as the emperor’s, albeit a smidge lighter. The more he looks the more of a resemblance he can see between the two. Not only that but with her apparent age there is only one person this girl could possibly be.

“You are Lady Edelgard.” What rotten luck indeed. Out of every person in the palace who could have witnessed that it had to be the one person he has been tasked with guarding. There’s no way she could possibly take him seriously now. “Please forgive me for speaking so rudely. I did not know it was you.”

“You’re forgiven if you tell me your name.” Edelgard smiled gently at the older boy. Hoping the gesture would help calm him down.

“I am Hubert von Vestra. From this day forward I will be serving as your vassal.” He placed a hand over his chest and his other arm against his back, offering a low bow. The motion is unnaturally stiff and they both know it.

“Even more reason for me to be concerned then.” The princess sighed, she hopes this doesn’t become a regular thing between them. She doesn’t want an obedient servant following her around constantly Especially if the boy in question is hardly older than her. Edelgard pushes that thought aside for now to focus on a more immediate problem. “Does he hit you a lot?”

“No.” The response is immediate, instinctual. They both see it for what it really is.

“Hubert von Vestra, you are a terrible liar.” He flinches at her tone which makes Edelgard’s frown deepen. She doesn’t understand what could possibly drive a father to make his own son so fearful. “I’m sure once I explain things to my father it won’t be a problem anymore.”

“That is unnecessary.”

“And why exactly is it unnecessary?”

He’s about to say that this sort of thing is common amongst noble families. It takes on different forms and the intensity of it varies, regardless to the heirs of households anything less than perfection is unacceptable. Then he remembers exactly who he is talking to. Edelgard is the  _ ninth  _ child out of  _ eleven _ potential heirs. The chances of her actually inheriting the throne are slim at best. Not only that many of her siblings are significantly older than her. 

The burdens that Hubert, and many other noble children, have had to carry must no doubt be something completely foreign to her. With no overblown expectations forced upon her tiny shoulders and a home that could easily provide her with anything she could ever dream of. A peaceful, sheltered life hidden from the darkness that has ebbed it’s way into this world. Maybe, just maybe, by serving by Edelgard’s side he can get a taste of what it’s like to only see the light. Even if it’s only a temporary thing. But in order for that to happen he needs to ensure that she doesn’t make a fuss about this mess.

“I must humbly ask that you forget what you saw and pretend as though it never happened.” Hubert bends his torso down as much as he is physically able to.

While he awaits a response, refusing to lift his head even an inch, Hubert can’t help but wonder what exactly Edelgard sees. A complacent fool content with the terrible hand he’s been given or a child terrified of his own father? Both options are simultaneously accurate and couldn’t be farther from the truth. The things Hubert wants to do and the things he actually does conflicting with one another. Two beasts whose jaws are locked together in an eternal struggle, leaving him stuck somewhere in the middle.

After a painfully long moment Edelgard let’s out a heavy sigh. Only then does he dare to look up at the resignation marring her features. The pity in those periwinkle eyes cutting deep into his soul. It makes his chest clench with an unpleasant feeling he can’t quite grasp the name of.

“Here, come with me.” Without waiting for a response Edelgard grabs his wrist and begins to lead him away.

Hubert allows it both because she’s technically his boss and because he simply doesn’t have the energy to fight back. Exhaustion suddenly overflowing from his whole body. It makes Hubert feel much older than he actually is. It claws at his mind so painfully he doesn’t even bother to try and remember the path she’s leading him down. Eventually Edelgard stops them in front of one of the less ornate doorways. She lets go of his hand and goes inside on her own. Unsure if he should follow or not Hubert finds himself stuck in place.

Moments tick away without Edelgard coming back out to urge him inside so he waits. He can vaguely make out muffled voices through the door however they’re too faint to catch their meaning. Eventually Edelgard returns with a small basket in her arms. She proudly presents her prize to him. Inside is a selection of cookies. Hubert glances up at her with a raised eyebrow. The fact that he doesn’t immediately accept makes the princess falter. A speck of pink dusting her cheeks.

“Sweets help me feel better when I’m upset so…. I thought maybe it’d help you too.”

Hubert has never really been one for sweets. Always thought the taste was overwhelmingly strong. Even so he accepts one of the offered treats. Once it’s on his tongue all he can taste is the sugar but it’s not entirely unpleasant. One bite at a time the cookie is devoured. Edelgard is smiling brightly at him by the time he finishes. None of the sneering grins he’s used to seeing but a genuine smile.

In that moment he comes to a realization. Hubert had automatically lumped the entire royal family with the rest of the world’s filth. That sort of thinking isn’t fair to Edelgard or anyone that like him is simply a victim of the system's cruelty. The girl before him was nothing more than a sheltered, naive, well-intentioned girl. Untouched by the shadows that are threatening to swallow him whole. With that in mind Hubert comes to a decision.

Edelgard might continue to live a peaceful, sheltered life as she grows into adulthood. She may go down in history as a nobody having not accomplished a damn thing. None of that matters to Hubert. Instead he decided right then and there that he’s going to protect her. He will guard her from the beasts that slither in the dark, that put on a mask when exposed to the light. If Hubert must become one such person to do so then so be it. As long as Edelgard is safe nothing else matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh geez this chapter was painful to write, I procrastinated on it so much because I dreaded writing this. I did this to myself so I have no right to complain really. Though this chapter finished on a happy note we all know how this story ends. A truly tragic tale through the ages.
> 
> Admittedly a lot of chapters in this are probably going to end up being depressing. One of my greatest frustrations with Ashen is the lack of opportunities the way I have it set up provides for me to show how fucked up Fodlan is. Which is part of the reason why I decided to do this set of side stories in the first place. To cover things I felt I should but couldn't really fit into the main story without ruining the flow. Anyways I will put warnings in the beginning notes of each chapter of things I people might not be comfortable with reading. Until next time.


	3. When Blood is Thicker Than Water...

The sun shone bright and unobscured above the two warriors standing parallel to each other. Not a creature stirred, not even the birds. All was silent except for the song of the wind. One knight drew his blade while his opponent stood their ground, waiting. That was fine by him. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow. The tension in the air was so thick that even the slightest disturbance could snap it in half. Caspar found himself smiling despite this fact. Just as a duel of fates should.

A cloud drifted above, obscuring the sun’s light. Caspar chose the moment it’s shadow passed over him to charge at his foe with a fearsome battle cry. They raised their shield and managed to block the blow but he was relentless. Striking again and again and again, each blow accompanied by a shout. Soon his aggression paid off. Their shield fell out of their grasp and Caspar jumped at the opening that left. Raising his blade high before swinging it down onto their head. The moment it made contact the wooden training sword split in two, the impact shattering the old tool. Caspar stared at it for a long moment, as well as the dummy he had been ruthlessly assaulting. It stared back at him with its faceless head.

The young boy threw both his arms into the air with a whoop. His sword arm ached from swinging the practice blade so hard but he didn’t care. There’s something so satisfying about moving his body until it starts to ache. His enjoyment of the afterglow was interrupted by clapping. The knight captain of the Adrestian militia leaned against one of the pillars of the training area, having bore witness to the whole show. Caspar beamed and ran up to the older gentleman.

“Did you see that! I was all wapow! Bam!” Caspar punched at the air as he reenacted his valiant victory. 

“Well you’ve certainly got spunk young lord.” The display earned a chuckle out of the captain. If only some of his own troops would show such enthusiasm. “You’ll make a fine knight when you’re older.”

“Really? I bet I could even take you on!” Caspar puffed his chest out to make himself look bigger. It was far more endearing than intimidating.

“Well when you're my height we’ll find out together!” The captain bellowed out while Caspar grumbled slightly at that. He is fully aware of the fact that he’s rather small for someone his age and doesn’t really like being reminded of that fact.

“Caspar!” His mother’s voice calling out to him snapped Caspar out of his slight irritation. “It’s time!”

“Go on young lord,” The captain playfully nudged him in the direction his mother was calling from. “and may the goddess smile upon you.”

Caspar ran over to where his mom was, waving back at the knight as he went. Once he was beside her she quickly ushered him inside the palace. It wasn’t often Caspar came to Enbarr alongside his parents but today is special. A tradition held by all of noble blood that can only be done in the capital, as the proper tools needed to reside here. As they moved down the hall his mother fussed over her son. Wiping the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief and trying to tame his windblown hair. It kind of tickled.

When they reached their destination his father stood before the door waiting for them. Caspar would be lying if he said his old man didn’t intimidate him. He just has an air of  _ strength  _ around him. Maybe it’s because he’s been in wars but even when his father was being nice there was just something imposing about him. Not that Caspar would ever admit that to his face, it’s too embarrassing. The elder Bergliez softened from his militant posture upon seeing his family.

“Caspar are you ready to prove your status as a son of Bergliez?” He might be scary sometimes but that doesn’t change the fact that he is still Caspar’s father.

“You bet I am!” This is the day his parents have been eagerly waiting for, that all noblemen look forward too. A right of passage of sorts. 

The count ushered his son into the room. There waiting for them is an older gentleman Caspar doesn’t ever remember meeting before tinkering with packing away some tools he doesn’t recognize. In fact as he looks around there are all sorts of things in here that he doesn’t recognize. As well as a mess of boxes stuffed full of papers and tomes scattered carelessly about. The clutter doesn’t seem to bother the gentleman at all as he seamlessly weaves through the chaos.

“Hanneman, I take it everything is ready?” The scholar- Hanneman looked up from his feeble attempts to properly fit his tools into the box he was currently trying to shove them into.

“Of course it is. Right this way Caspar.” He set down his things and shoved a few boxes to the side to make more room. Caspar followed his instructions standing where the scholar directed him. “Now just place your hand over this dial on the floor here.”

Sounds easy enough. Caspar stretched his arm out so that his hand was hovering just over the center of the dial. He can’t help but shift the weight of his feet as Hanneman leans down to get a better look at the dial. A second passes, then another, and another. Is something supposed to be happening? As things stand Caspar is just standing there with his arm stretched out. Actually it’s starting to make his arm tired holding it up like this. Eventually Hanneman stands back up to his full height.

“Well?” The count asks expectantly which Caspard takes as permission to lower his hand back down to his side. Hanneman looks between the two Bergliz, opening his mouth then shutting it again. Eventually his eyes settle on the son with pity.

“Young Caspar it appears that you do not bear a crest.”

It was with that one sentence that the switch was flipped. The imposing yet friendly figure of his father became awash in fury. Without a word he stomped out of the room. Caspard could vaguely make out his mother asking what’s wrong as she followed him. He was about to chase after them when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Hanneman let out a long, drawn out sigh as he’d seen this exact scenario many times before.

“Give him some time to calm down.” Hanneman gives the young noble a firm pat before releasing him. “And… try not to worry too much about what anyone has to say about this.”

Not knowing what else to do Caspar simply agrees and leaves the scholar to finish packing his things. It wasn’t until the next day, when word of his lack of a crest had begun to spread, that he understood what exactly Hanneman had meant. Maybe they were bad at whispering or maybe they just didn’t care if he heard what they were saying. Over and over Caspar heard the insults veiled as pity. Over and over they gave him that same damnable look whenever he passed them by.

It got to the point where he just wanted to punch something hard enough to make his fist ache. To mindlessly swing a sword so he didn’t have to think about the whispers following him around. Whether it be here or back home the training grounds have always been a favorite place of Caspar’s. If he wasn’t with his family or running around in the streets more times then not that’s where he’d find himself. Even the walk to the grounds felt soothing in it’s own right. Seeing the knight captain there chatting with some of his men helped alleviate the bad air even more.

“-kid pretty attached to you captain?” He slowed down as their words filtered into his ears. Eavesdropping like this is rude but so is interrupting a conversation. He’ll just wait until they’re done to make his presence known.

“That’s right but I only put up with him because he’s Bergliz’s kid.” The captain ran a hand through his hair, a vile grin creeping into his expression as he did so. “Not that he can be considered that for much longer, a noble brat without a crest is nothing but a waste of space.”

The men took no notice of the small pair of feet that scampered away. Too focused on their snickering to pay it any mind. Caspar let his feet carry him away with no mind to the destination. The need to get away from it all overpowering all else. Vision blurring while his feet tore across the ground. It’s not fair. Whether he has a crest or not that doesn’t change who he is. He’s still the youngest son of Count Bergliz, still the young man bursting with potential that everyone always praised. It’s not fair. He didn’t choose to not have a crest. It’s not his fault he just so happens to not have one. It’s not-

“Whoa there squirt.” A strong hand grabs Caspar by the back of his shirt and lifts him off the ground. He wipes his eyes clear to see his elder brother looking down at him with a worried frown. “What’s got you so flighty?”

“Am I a bad person because I don’t have a crest?” For a moment, a tiny blink-and-you’ll-miss moment, a flash of anger overcame Sigwin’s face. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. A far more upbeat smile replacing it.

“Come on. Let’s get out of the palace for a bit.” Sigwin let his brother back down onto the ground. With one arm resting atop the much shorter Bergliz’s shoulder they made their way to the gates guarding the heart of the empire. When they’d pass by the odd noble Sigwin would sneer at them making them quickly avert their attention elsewhere. The heir of house Bergliz is not someone most would want to openly cross.

The soldiers standing guard at the gate straightened their backs as they passed by. Sigwin paid them no mind so neither did Caspar. The latter instead trying his best to focus on the comforting embrace of his brother. The elder sibling easily lead them through the streets of Enbarr. Pushing through the busy crowds of the capital until eventually they found their way into a tavern. As the hour was still fairly early not many people inhabited the building but that did little to discourage those that were there. The two claimed a table for themselves. Sigwin ordered them some food, looking wistfully around the establishment as the worker left to start preparing their food. 

“Nobles can be so stuffy at times. Always worrying about titles and who has the fanciest wine. That’s why I like to come out to places like this every once in a while, to get a breather.”

Caspar said nothing in response. Instead tracing the patterns ingrained into the wooden table. With a sigh Sigwin leaned onto its surface. Eventually Caspar felt the courage to look up at his brother, his normally bright and cheery eyes clouded by confusion and despair. It made Sigwin clench his fist.

“You want to know what they call me back there? A lazy, crude bastard that has no manners. A bandit wearing fancy clothes.” That got Caspar to perk up a bit. His own frustration leaking through.

“But you’re not like that at all!” Caspar slammed his palms onto the table, his chair screeching back when he stood.

“And they don’t give a damn. Because I don’t fall into line with their way of thinking they try to make me out to be less than them.” Sigwin waved off his brother’s anger. Gesturing for him to sit back down which Caspar reluctantly did. “They’re full of shit so you shouldn’t listen to their stupid gossiping.”

“But even mom and dad are upset that I don’t have a crest.” Some of the spark that had begun to reignite within Caspar diminished. Their dad had barely spared him a glance since the news broke while their mother couldn’t look her own son in the eyes without feeling like she had somehow failed. More than the whispers Caspar doesn’t want to be the focus of his own parents’ contempt.

Sigwin leaned back into his seat and idly rubbed at the stubble beginning to grow along his jaw. The other patrons merrily chatted around them, oblivious to the two nobles’ plight. Soon a lantern ignites in the elder’s head.

“Imagine Duke Aegir has a sword of legends, a blade beyond comparison.” Caspar raises an eyebrow at the sudden shift in mood. Even so he’ll always play along with his brother’s love for storytelling.

“Like a hero’s relic?” Caspar’s never seen one but he’s certainly heard plenty of stories about the legendary weapons gifted to the people of Fodlan by the goddess. Blades that crackle with heavenly light that can take down entire armies with a single swing. Weapons that allow humans to stand on equal ground against demons. Wielding one is every sprouting youth’s dream. 

“Yes! Let’s pretend he has one for a moment. A sword of unmatched potential that glows red with the goddess’s might. Now imagine you and Aegir got into a fight, him with his relic and you with a flimsy iron sword.” That doesn’t sound like a good situation to get caught up in at all. However the feral grin spread across Sigwin’s cheeks makes him swallow down any such comments. “Then you knock that son of a bitch flat on his ass and his precious relic goes flying out of his hand. Do you know why you won?”

“No.” While Caspar likes to think he’s a good fighter for his age he’s definitely not  _ that  _ good. Even their less than friendly neighbors fear the power of the relics. How could he possibly stand a chance against them?

“Because you’ve been practicing with a sword while that fat bastard has never touched a blade in his life. Doesn’t matter if he has a fancy relic if he doesn’t know how to use it.” Sigwin chuckled at the mental image of his tiny brother knocking down Aegir a peg. The bartender places down his order in front of them. He thanks the woman and when she’s out of earshot his merriment gives way to a more serious demeanor. “It’s the same with crests. People like to gloat about how they’ve been blessed by the goddess but most of them will never actually use their crest their whole lives. It’s nothing but something to show off to make themselves feel better then everyone else when they’re not.”

Sigwin let the words sink in. Grabbing a chicken leg from his plate and enthusiastically tearing into the meat. Eating not like a nobleman but a ruffian. Caspar only stared at his own food. The gears in his head working on overdrive to process this new information. He had always heard people go on about how great crests are and how important it is for nobles to have them but never really thought about why that is. The more he thought about it the more his brother’s words made sense.

“Then… I just have to prove I don’t need a crest to be strong!” Caspar declared to the very heavens. His spirit burned bright once again. The shadows still creep along the edges of it’s light but they don’t seem as scary anymore.

“That’s the spirit squirt.” Sigwin manages to get out despite his mouth being stuffed. He reaches across the table to affectionately ruffle his brother’s hair.

The two devour their meals with great gusto. Afterwards they spend the rest of the day gallivanting around the capital, temporarily forgetting their positions in favor of enjoying each other’s company. Once the sun begins to dip below the horizon they make their way back to the palace in much higher spirits than when they’d left. Just as the two are about to part ways Sigwin stops his brother with uncharacteristic hesitance. He looks around to make sure no one else could hear before leaning down to whisper.

“Listen Caspar I… I’m actually glad you don’t have a crest.” Though Sigwin was smiling he looked so sad. He enveloped his brother in a tight embrace. “That means you're free to do whatever you want instead of what everyone else wants you to do.”

Caspar always highly valued his brother’s words. Sometimes looking up to the heir of their household not as his brother but as a role model. Because of that he often clung to whatever scraps of wisdom Sigwin dropped, committing them to memory. The words quietly whispered just between the two of them that day always stuck with Caspar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't even take a full 24 hours after I posted the latest chapter of Ashen to finish this. I'm just as surprised as you all by this. Or maybe it shouldn't come as much of a surprise since I have had a lot of work for both these chapters done for a while now, I just needed to actually write them. Anyways this one is kinda sorta the first half of a two parter. And by that I mean this and the little story that will come after it will be directly connected to one another. Even the titles will be two halves of a whole phrase. I don't think I need to tell you who's pov the next chapter will be in. Until then my dear readers!


	4. ...The Beasts Come Slithering Out

In this day and age where nobility stand at the top one would think their children live a cozy life. Where anything and everything they could possibly want is available with a snap of their fingers, and the best accommodations Fodlan can possibly provide. That is indeed the case but for most it comes with a price. A burden that most commoners will never be aware of. Linhardt is one of the lucky few that isn’t weighed down by the pressures their class’s status brings. With rather laid back parents that encourage their son to do well but don’t really push it either. The same cannot be said for his peers.

The youngest son of house Bergliez is one such example of this. While Caspar has always spoken highly of his father the man seemed rather content to ignore his existence all because of something his son has no control over. It’s stupid is what it is. While Linhardt understands that crests can be powerful it’s not like only people who have them can accomplish great things. There are plenty of skilled knights within Fodlan that don’t bear crests for example. There’s also a wealth of countries that don’t have crests at all who have bore exceptional people. Linhardt understands the presence of a crests being praised but he fails to understand why the lack of one can be a source of such stigma. That very same stigma that his friend is currently the target of.

“I heard you have a crest, congrats!” Though Caspar smiled Linhardt can see the redness to his eyes and how his shoulder slouched more than normal. Unlike him, who couldn’t care less what other people think of him, Caspar thrives on the approval of others. The not-so-subtle whispers echoing through the palace are getting to him far more than he’d ever openly admit. 

“I don’t think it’s really as big of a deal as people make it out to be.” Linhardt isn’t just saying that to try and appease his friend either. It is what he genuinely believes. Crests are indeed powerful but at the end of the day their use only applies to battle. Outside of it they’re nothing more than a fancy decoration. Not something worth belittling and insulting someone for not having.

“Yeah, my brother told me the same thing.” Caspar plopped down onto the grass next to him. Laying down with his hands behind his head, gazing idly up at the clear sky. The usually loud and brash boy consumed by melancholy. Caspar didn’t seem interested in saying anything else and Linhardt had no idea what to say. So the latter returned his attention to the book in his lap. He gets through two pages before hearing his friend’s voice again. “Say, what  _ are  _ crests anyways?”

“They’re a gift to humanity from the goddess herself. Given to the ten elites to help them fight off the demons and their worshipers to save Fodlan from annihilation.” Linhardt doesn’t even look away from the page as he answers. Having that knowledge drilled into him since he had learned to read.

“Duh! I know where they came from. But no one ever told me what they actually  _ are _ .” From the corner of his eye he sees Caspar sit back up. Turning his body to face his friend.

“That’s…” Now that Linhardt thinks about it Caspar is right. He’s heard people refer to crests as “power incarnate” before but that’s so _vague._ To the point where it doesn’t actually mean anything. “I don’t know.”

“If you don’t even know then I’ve got no chance of figuring it out.” Caspar laughed before moving on to tell his friend about the little adventure he and his brother had recently. Linhardt listened faithfully and occasionally commented but his mind was stuck on Caspar’s question.

The first place he later on decided to check for the answer was the most obvious: The library. The Herving mansion has their own personal library but it couldn’t even compare to the palace’s. If Linhardt could help it then he’d spend as much time as he could here whenever his family visited Enbarr. It’s incredible how much knowledge can be contained in mere bundles of paper in a way anyone could easily digest. Well, if one knows how to read that is. Linhardt doesn’t understand why the ability to read is considered a luxury when it’s just so  _ convenient _ . But that’s a query for another day, right now learning every bit of information this library has about crests is his number one priority.

Books have never let Linhardt down before but as the saying goes there’s a first for everything. Whether it be holy texts or more scholarly ones it's all the same. He found lists of all known crests, their abilities, and even extensive documentations of crest wielders throughout history yet all of them describe what a crest actually is in the same vague, obtuse way. It doesn’t make any sense. How can something be so important to Fodlan’s history, culture, and hierarchy yet no one can properly explain what exactly it is?

Linhardt is about to throw the book he’s currently skimming through in frustration when the next segment makes him pause. According to this text demons can act as living, breathing crest detectors. Even when a nobleman is dressed as any other commoner the creatures of Hell are still able to identify them through their crests. The author theorizes that perhaps since crests originated from the goddess demons have a sort of sixth sense for them. A fascinating find that brings Linhardt’s thoughts down a dangerous path. Hell is Heaven's foil, the complete opposites of one another. Not only that demons are capable of living extraordinarily long lifespans. If anyone currently alive could properly explain what exactly a crest is surely it would be them.

A dangerous line of thought indeed. Selling his soul just to have a question answered isn’t worth it in the slightest. Pure stupidity is what it is. That’s what Linhardt keeps telling himself but his mind keeps wandering to that idea. No matter how much he tries to beat it down with cold logic. Caspar had said exploring the city had helped clear his addled mind, perhaps the distraction will have a similar effect on him as well. That’s how he found himself wandering the streets of Enbarr with no particular destination in mind. Watching as other people go about their own business.

A clang stops Linhardt in his tracks, soon the sound is followed by a muffled grunt. It came from his right- in the cracks between buildings. Going into an alleyway with suspicious noises is the last thing a child should be doing. However what if someone had been moving something and it had fallen on them? They could be stuck, or worse hurt. His interference could very well be the difference between life and death for whoever had made that sound. Linhardt may be lazy when it comes to working but he isn’t one to slack when someone genuinely needs help. He’ll just take a quick peek and if he’s wrong he’ll walk away without even being noticed.

Linhardt’s small body easily squeezes between the buildings. It’s tight and claustrophobic but he pushes through his discomfort. Letting out a sigh when he eventually reaches a much wider alleway. Here the shadows of the buildings blot out the sun, darkening his surroundings significantly. He’s never been one to be afraid of the dark but something in the air around here just feels wrong in a way he can’t explain. Even so he pushes forward towards where he can hear a person shuffling about. That is the first and last time Linhardt would ever ignore his gut instinct.

There isn’t one person but two, the slimmer holding the bulkier one face down. A sword carelessly thrown aside in what must have been a scuffle between them. That’s not what has Linhardt immediately regretting his decision. It’s the copious amount of red staining the stone floor and the eerie glow in the woman’s cat-like eyes. How she dips her head down and  _ bites  _ the back of the man’s neck. Unnaturally long teeth sinking easily into soft flesh. Tearing out a chunk of muscle and tendons both when she snaps her head back up, before  _ swallowing  _ it in a single gulp.

Linhardt’s feet scrape against stone in his haste to  _ get away _ , bile making its way up his throat at the same time. His body’s instinctive reactions revealing himself to the monster cloaked in human skin. He barely has enough time to turn around before a bloodied hand grabs him by the neck. Pulling him back into the chest of the demon. Linhardt flails his limbs in an attempt to break free which only makes her laugh. The demon lifts up his chin, forcing him to look at her. Her lips glistening from her feast, curly horns wrapping around her head in a way that makes her look bigger. Pupils barely visible while her eyes are as wild as a maddened beast. Linhardt squeezes his own eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable. Waiting for the demon to chomp down on her next meal.

“Oh it’s just a brat.” The demon tsked, loosening her hold but not letting go completely. Linhardt feels her lean down and take a deep breath against his head. “And a noble brat at that! Well aren’t you an unlucky little pup.”

Linhardt fell flat on his face. Not because the demon had pushed him down but because she let him go. For a long, gruelling moment he simply laid there. Expecting at any moment for the demon to rip his spine out. Instead he felt a single finger tentatively poke him. Linhardt lifted his head to see the demon kneeling before his fallen form. Her shirt clinging tightly to her body from how slick it is.

“Almost thought you keeled over on me.” Linhardt could only stare at the demon grinning down at him. His heart pounding in his veins like a hammer against steel. “Oh relax! We demons may be a bunch of heartless bastards but we do have some morals. Kids are off limits.”

Linhardt continued to stare while his mind slowly worked to interpret her words. Working at half the speed it normally would. The demon shrugged, she stood back up and dusted her pants off. It looked like she was going to simply leave. Amongst the ferocious winds of panic raging on inside of him there rested the eye of the storm. A single piece of clarity in an otherwise obscured land. Encountering a demon had been exactly what he had been hoping for, and he had gotten his wish. There was no way Linhardt was going to waste this one and only chance.

“I want to ask you something.” By some miracle the words come out loud and clear. It intrigues the demon enough to have her kneel back down as Linhardt struggles to stand himself.

“And why exactly should I answer the question of a blue blooded pup?” She pinches his cheek with her sticky fingers. Linhardt smacks the hand away which only makes her grin.

“Because I’ll give you my blood if you do.” The way that makes the demon wild eyes gleam makes Linhardt regret his words immediately. If she wanted to she could so easily rip him apart and devour him whole even without his consent. “O-only a mouthful, no more than that!”

“I shouldn’t be making a deal with a brat but… what the hell, this may be my only chance to taste some blue blood.” She said more to herself than to Linhardt. The demon points a finger only a breath away from the tip of his nose. “But you can’t start complaining if you don’t like the answer I give.”

The demon offers him a hand to shake, to which he tentatively takes. The moment their palms meet Linhardt feels something pass between them. A flow of magic beyond human understanding. The deal binding their very souls. Once the sparks in the air died down instead of letting go the demon pulled him close before sinking her teeth into his arm. Letting out a delighted purr when that sweet, liquid candy hits her tongue. When she pulls away Linhardt’s blood is staining her lips. Her flushed from the sensation of that divine taste sliding down her throat.

“Oh that was delicious. The way it burns against my tongue…” The demon shudders, the aftertaste still strong. Except now it’s her turn to complete her end of the bargain. She shakes off the slight high as much as she can. Composing herself to the best of her ability. “Alright shoot kid.”

“What are crests?” The question Linhardt voices surprises her. The demon not expecting someone so young to be interested in such a topic. A sense of giddiness begins to boil under her skin.

“That’s simple really, crests are a piece of the heavens that humans stole from the gods! As well as the curse they left behind to punish humans for their hubris.” 

“You're lying. The goddess gave people crests.” Linhardt realizes a little too late that he never asked her to answer  _ honestly _ . That she could say whatever she wanted so long as it counted as an answer.

“Oh sure, if by gave you mean let humans rip out her own bones.” Linhardt’s eyes widened. The implications behind that claim made his head spin. “What? Did you think that fancy little story the church likes to tell is actually true?”

“Why would they lie about that?” If this demon is telling the truth then that means everything he’s ever been taught about Fodlan’s history is false. 

“Because it makes all the ignorant little sheep that don’t know any better more likely to follow them without question!” The demon waves her arm in a fanciful flourish. She pauses suddenly before scratching the top of her head. “Although... that was a long time ago. Maybe even enough time that they don’t know the truth anymore.” A low chuckle makes its way out of her throat. The irony of that possibility amusing her. “Doesn’t change the fact they still benefit from that lie.”

Linhardt wants to refute her claim again. Call her out on the blatant lie but he can’t. Not when he knows how crests bearers are put on such a high pedestal whether they deserve it or not. How those without them are ostracized to the point of making them powerless. Such selfish actions couldn’t possibly be done with the blessings of the same goddess who teaches of love and mercy.

“I’ve already spent too much time loitering here.” The demon pats him on the head but Linhardt barely registers the contact. His mind too busy recounting everything he knows about Fodlan’s history, pointing out all the things that never made sense until now. Because of that he fails to notice the toothy grin splitting her face in two or the excited gleam in her eyes. “Make sure you grow up to do great things little pup!”

He doesn’t even notice how the demon disappears from thin air. The cogs in his brian working on overdrive. Fitting this new information so smoothly into the blanks he didn’t even notice were there. Linhardt brings a hand up to his face to wipe away some of the sweat beginning to form on his skin. Only to feel something far stickier and thicker instead. Pulling it away to see his own palm stained red. Reminding him of the corpse that lies only a couple of feet away and the open teeth marks left in his arm.

The next thing Linhardt knows he’s lying in bed staring up at a familiar ceiling. Caspars head is face down against the mattress while the rest of his body hangs off of it. No matter how hard he tries to remember what had happened all Linhardt gets is snapshots of blood- so much blood everywhere. Unable to recall either the glowing eyes that looked down on him or the words that were exchanged then. Though he cannot remember them, the doubts they instilled into his heart would follow him forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be perfectly honest with y'all this has been like 70% done for almost a month now. I just never had the motivation to finish it until now. Mostly thanks to how this chapter is... relevant to recent events that have happened within Ashen. The church is built upon a lie and while baby Linhardt's poor traumatized mind completely blocked out this memory that knowledge still had a lasting impact on him. Made him start to look at things more closely and want to figure things out for himself instead of just relying on what others say. Anyways see y'all next time!


	5. Prayers

A god has many duties assigned to them once they ascend. To maintain the balance of their domain, the birth of new worlds, and to listen to the prayers of their subjects. Unlike the former two, the latter is a task gods have chosen to take on for themselves. Even if they cannot fulfill that person’s prayers the least they can do is listen to the words meant for them. Of course when a god has millions of followers hearing every single one of their prayers is impossible. As such it’s a more loosely followed role they take. When Sothis was stripped of her physical body she had gained far more free time then she ever could have imagined. Some gods saw their “deaths” as a chance to take a break from their duty of managing their world. After all vessels are to gods what magic tomes are to humans: conduits that help amplify and focus their powers. Without one their ability to intervene in the affairs of mortals becomes far more limited.

For Sothis having her strength crippled from her became a source of despair. Forced to watch as her children perished one by one. Unable to save those wailing in despair no matter how much she wished to. She could have returned to the heavens, where their voices would not be able to reach her. Went into a deep sleep to await her next “birth”. Instead guilt kept her locked onto her false throne. Even if there is nothing she can do for them she will not abandon her children. Not now, not ever. So she sat there and listened for a millenium. Acting as the sole spectator to a tragic play. It’s actors oblivious to her teary gaze. While listening to people’s prayers could feel Sothis with a sense of helplessness they also could be a source of joy.

“Dear goddess, please help my brother get over his cold quickly. Emile hates sitting still and it really upsets him that he can’t run around.”

It brings a smile to Sothis’s face. The prayers of children are always so innocent and pure, spoken from a place of love. It’s far more soothing than listening to people asking her for rain that will not come. Begging to be saved from the pit they’ve fallen into with no way out. Pleading for their dying family to be saved. That doesn’t stop her from listening to all of them. After all it is the least she can do for how she has failed them.

“Dear goddess, mom and dad have been fighting more and more lately. They sometimes yell so loud we can hear them across the house. It scares me but I have to be strong for Emile. I can be strong for him, right?”

On the contrary it can also be prayers from children that bring Sothis the greatest despair. Fodlan has become so messed up in her absence. Children aren’t treated like people but tools. Prized steeds to be shown off or mares to be tossed aside because they’re not the right breed. Yet no matter how far it falls its people do not speak up in rebellion of this. For the few that tried are quickly silenced before they can even let out a silent whine.

“Dear goddess, dad gave mom a bloody nose and I… I don’t want to be in this house anymore. Dad is always so scary. Please can you take us away from here?”

It’s all wrong. So very, very wrong. Children should not fear their own parents yet it has become a more commonplace thing with each generation. Sothis digs her nails into the arms of her throne. She wants to go down there and slap some sense into these people. Would do so in a heartbeat if they wouldn’t be oblivious to her presence, unable to hear her words.

“Dear goddess, thank you for granting my wish. But couldn’t we have brought Emile with us? Mom says we’ll all be safer if Emile stays with dad but… It’s not fair!”

It hurts. It hurts so much to watch the fruits of her mistakes flourish into a great bounty. Devoured by those oblivious to the poison hidden just under its flesh. Tasting the addictive sweetness of it and wanting more. Stuffing themselves with it until they become so dependent on it they cannot live without it.

“Dear goddess, please watch over Emile for me. He’s so sweet and kind. He shouldn’t be left alone with someone like dad.”

A son butchers his own father with a wicked smile and a breathless laugh. The poison has burrowed itself deep into Fodlan. Those that are aware of its presence either use it for themselves or turn a blind eye to it. Sothis wishes that she had someone that she could pray to. Wonders if it will bring her a sense of comfort or sink her further into despair when her prayers are inevitably unanswered. 

Fate is a funny thing, it can be benevolent and cruel in equal measure. At times it can save a world from the brink of death. On other occasions it can be the cause of it. Fate has no will or sympathy, it simply is. Even so Sothis finds herself praying to it. Pleading it to finally put an end to this cycle. Whether it be by saving Fodlan or finally putting the place she once called home out of its misery.

“Goddess, I have not prayed to you in a long time. Not since my family was taken from me in the name of granting us one of your blessings. I only came to say that I will fix this unfair world. And if I have to strike you down to do it, then so be it.”

A flickering star falls into the abyss, caught in the embrace of a phoenix's flame. That’s when Sothis knows she will have her answer soon. No matter how much she might try to stop it-  _ Not like this! Please, please don’t do it like this _ \- the hands of fate have already put all the pieces on the board. Now all that remains is for the game to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I was planning on doing a chapter for each of the beagles before anything else but… The idea for this one suddenly hit me really hard while I was writing chapter 44 of Ashen. I had to immediately stop to write this instead when it did before the clear imagery became faded. Didn’t expect to end up getting the whole thing done in the span of an hour. Thus here we are.
> 
> This one is admittedly fairly short compared to the others but I feel it still holds just as much weight. Giving us an insight into Sothis's thoughts over the current state of Fodlan... and something else. Until next time.


End file.
